


Deception and Perfection

by atticrissfinch



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atticrissfinch/pseuds/atticrissfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel walks into the boutique where Blaine works, and he is instantly captivated. It's only after Blaine's gotten into Kurt's bed that he learns Kurt's secret...he's already married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day was incredibly slow. People passed by the boutique in droves, swept up in the hustle and bustle of New York in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day. On weekends the shop did okay, and Blaine was able to assist customers with a smile and pep in his step. He loved helping people, directing them to clothes or accessories he felt would accent them well. He didn’t mind his job most days, especially having known the owner for years and developed a strong fondness for the middle-aged woman with more money than she knows what to do with.

 

The boutique was her pride and joy, and Blaine did his best to run it well, especially since Linda was always away on exotic vacations and trying to distract herself from the death of her husband and soulmate that occurred five years prior. She poured her soul into the products in that store, and despite the lack of cash flow in the shop, Linda demands that it keep running. Blaine understands—this shop was _theirs_ , and giving it up would be like losing her husband all over again.

 

Blaine is supportive, gentle with Linda, who happened to be one of the kindest spirits that he had ever met in his twenty-one years.

 

However, on lifeless afternoons such as this, when Blaine has arranged and rearranged the boutique a hundred times over, the novelty of it wanes. He’s sitting behind the counter with a copy of Vogue flipped open in front of him, his focus blurring and his cheek slowly plumping with the way it’s sliding off the palm of the hand it’s propped on, when the bell of the door sounds.

 

Blaine perks up immediately, standing up abruptly and pasting on a grin as the customer enters though the door. Blaine is gearing up to greet them when his words get caught in his throat, almost chokes on them.

 

The man is gorgeous. Probably in his early thirties. Lean, tall, pale, and the clothes and facial expression that are common in New York City— that dignified look that says _I’m better than you and my expensive clothes prove that._

The man clears his throat, and that is when Blaine realizes he’s been staring. He’s just lucky his mouth wasn’t hanging open.

 

“Hi!” Blaine pipes up at last, a little too enthusiastic from the sudden adrenaline rush, but he presses on. “How can I help you today, sir?” He flounces out from behind the counter to approach him, ensuring that he keeps a safe distance from the man so he doesn’t do something stupid, like drop to his knees or mouth at his neck.

 

The corner of the man’s mouth quirks up, and Blaine has known that look to mean he’s pleased that someone has noticed their costly appearance. Prideful. “I’ve passed by this place several times, and I thought I’d stop by. I think it’s absolutely _adorable_.”

 

The man’s voice is delicate, melodic, yet holds weight. It’s beautiful, engaging, and Blaine wants to beg the man to speak more. Something tells him that with this man, it wouldn’t take much prompting. Blaine’s eyes slip from the pink of his lips down the creamy panes of his neck before they disappear underneath an artfully wrapped navy blue scarf that Blaine could spot as Valentino from a mile away. The accompanying Armani vest layered over a crisp white button-up fits snug around his torso—Blaine wants to rip it off, Giorgio be damned.

 

Blaine blinks, darting his eyes back up to meet the man’s with a smile. “Well, feel free to look around. Dressing rooms are in the back. Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for and I’d be happy to help.”

 

The man’s lips twitch, but he nods and moves past Blaine without another word, heading straight to a rack of silk paisley scarves on display. Blaine’s gaze follows the man of its own accord, gluing to the fine ass attached to the fine man, accentuated by tight Armani dress pants that match his vest, both in subtly shimmering light grey fabric. Perfection. Delectable perfection.

 

Blaine decides it’s best if he puts as much space between them as possible, and he busies himself on the opposite side of the store, fiddling with the bangles and bracelets on the designated stands. The store is silent but for the low hum of standards playing from the boutique speakers. Blaine’s palms start to sweat inexplicably, and he wipes them quickly on his pants.

 

“Excuse me?” Blaine hears and he turns to spot the man in front of a mirror outside the dressing stalls, modeling a pair of skinny jeans that he had most likely pulled on in the dressing room. His back was to the mirror, but his head was craned over his shoulder, and Blaine is positive he knows what he’s inspecting.

 

His suspicions are confirmed when Blaine rushes over to the man. “Yes sir? What can I help you with?”

 

The words come out casual. “Does my ass look terrible in these jeans?”

 

Blaine swallows. “I…I’m not…You…” He stammers.

 

The man brings his head up to look at Blaine in front of him, a smirk firmly in place. “Honey, it’s okay. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were staring at my ass like the eighth world wonder. Which means I can trust your opinion.”

 

Blaine’s lips move, but words don’t come out for a few second. “I…Your ass looks— _you_ look just fine, sir. They complement you well.”

 

Kurt’s lips curve in a frown, twisting his neck to scrutinize his ass once more. “I don’t know. Are you sure I don’t look too flat?”

 

Blaine speaks up quicker this time. “Absolutely not, sir.”

 

“Kurt.”

 

Blaine’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

 

“My name is Kurt, honey. I’m only “sir” in the bedroom sometimes,” Kurt says, more glibly than Blaine could ever imagine, as if he were telling Blaine where he grew up or what his favorite restaurant was.

 

Blaine’s throat dries up and his eyes fog over.

 

Kurt turns to the side to admire his ass from a different angle before saying, “No, you’re right, they fill me out pretty nice.” His eyes flick up to Blaine’s and the man, Kurt, grins. “Sweetie, you’re gonna catch flies if you keep that up.”

 

Shit. This time his jaw _was_ open. Blaine snaps it shut abruptly, muttering an apology with a blush burning his cheeks.

 

“Nothing to be sorry about, honey. You’re adorable.”

 

Blaine doesn’t know what makes him say it, but it comes out much more forcefully than he intends. “I’m twenty-one!”

 

Kurt laughs, and it sounds like magic. “Congratulations.”

 

Blaine has to consciously keep himself from pouting. “I mean I’m not adorable. I’m not a kid.”

 

Kurt’s face falls into an affectionate smile, almost as if he would coo at Blaine, like he was watching a baby playing with toys. It makes Blaine uncomfortable. “Oh, you most certainly aren’t, honey. I didn’t think you were. In fact, I’m surprised that you don’t have a hunky man to go home to, judging by how openly you’re trying to undress me with your eyes.”

 

Blaine stares at his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m really shit at this kind of thing.”

 

“Au contraire, my self-esteem has never been higher.” Kurt smiles.

 

Blaine holds out his hand. “I’m Blaine.”

 

Kurt takes it without further prompting, gripping it firmly. “Well it’s very nice to meet you, Blaine.” Kurt slides his hand from Blaine’s and Blaine instantly misses the contact.

 

“So…” Blaine starts, his hands childishly sliding into his pockets while he locks his elbows straight. The smirk comes easier than he expects on Blaine’s lips. “Do you need some help getting those off, or…”

 

Kurt’s laughter is loud and Blaine fights to not let that get to him. “Thank you for your…um… _consideration_ , but I think I can manage.”

 

Blaine had figured as much. He simply nods, rocking back onto his heels a few times. “You should get them, though. They really do look great on you.”

 

Kurt preens, running his hands down his ass and cupping. “Thank you, Blaine. I think I will.”

 

Blaine rings the pants up at the register after Kurt has changed back into his slacks, and Kurt thanks him again luxuriously before leaving the store. Something flutters to the floor when he pulls a hand out of his pocket to push open the door. Blaine calls out as the door drifts closed behind Kurt, “Hey, Kurt, you dropped—!” but Kurt looks back at Blaine through the glass window of the boutique and _winks_ before moving out of sight with a broad smile on his lips.

 

Blaine stares quizzically at what appears to just be a plain scrap of paper and scurries over to it. When he picks it up, he sees the black markings.

 

_Meet me tomorrow, the Starbucks on 2 nd at noon. Tell no one._

***

 

“You’re very prompt.”

 

Blaine’s cheeks redden as he slips into the chair across from Kurt. His hair swoops upwards, practically defying physics altogether, and his legs are crossed primly. He’s just as impeccably dressed as he was yesterday, smells just as incredible and is enhanced by the swirling smell of coffee wafting in the air.

 

“I’m impressed. Twelve o’ clock on the dot.”

 

“Only because I’ve been waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes and trying not to look eager.” Blaine admits bashfully, glancing up at Kurt from beneath his lashes.

 

And it’s completely true. Blaine had paced back and forth along the street until he saw Kurt, and he ducked into the alley neighboring the coffee shop and waited for Kurt to enter before he followed. It was the nerves. He’d gotten there much earlier than he had planned, only realizing afterward how terribly desperate that was, and bailed out. So instead, he aimed for promptness.

 

Except apparently now he’s going for bluntness.

 

“Ok, I know you said you weren’t adorable, but you are _adorable_ ,” Kurt says, laughing breathily.

 

Blaine scowls. “What did you ask me here for anyway?”

 

Kurt looks at Blaine as if it’s obvious. “For a date, silly.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widen considerably. “A _date_?”

 

Kurt nods slowly, smiling. “That’s what big people do sometimes.”

 

“Shut up,” Blaine chuckles. “I’m just…I don’t know. Shocked. You seemed decidedly uninterested in me yesterday.”

 

“What can I say? I’m a man of mystery.” Kurt tilts his mouth impishly, and Blaine’s stomach twists in knots with how much he _wants_.

 

“How old are you?” Blaine finds himself asking.

 

Kurt answers without hesitation, seeming like another point of pride for him. “Thirty-two.”

 

“That’s super hot,” Blaine blurts out, and Kurt muffles a laugh behind curled fingers. His left hand, Blaine notes. Ringless. A good sign.

 

“I’m glad you think so. Because I happen to find you pretty hot yourself. Strutting around your little boutique. And the whole age thing? Definitely does it for me.”

 

“I guessed that,” Blaine says, his lips curling mischievously as he tacks on, “Sir.”

 

Kurt grins as he brings a leg up, setting his foot flat on his chair and rests his wrist on it laxly. “Jesus, you’re panting for it, aren’t you honey?”

 

“Oh you don’t want to hear the hundred fantasies that went through my head last night that starred you,” He plays along, teasing. Blaine is good at this part. He’s good at teasing.

 

“I’m sure I can imagine,” Kurt replies. He looks like he’s thinking a moment, and then he stands up, pushing his chair back. “Come on.”

 

“Where are we going?” Blaine asks, but follows him, bewildered, out the door anyway.

 

“My place.” Kurt answers simply. “Any objections?”

 

Blaine nearly falls on his face with how he trips over himself. “None whatsoever.”

 

***

 

The moment Kurt shuts the door behind him his lips are on Blaine’s. It’s harsh and aggressive and one of the sexiest things Blaine has ever experienced, and before Blaine can process it all he’s being led straight through the apartment and into a bedroom without even getting to glance around. Though honestly, Kurt is the only thing Blaine could give a shit about looking at anyway.

 

He’s shoved onto the bed without ceremony and he watches as Kurt crawls hungrily toward him, looking like he wants to _devour_ Blaine. And fuck, Blaine wants him to. Blaine’s pants are shucked off his legs in seconds by the older man, and the rest of their clothes follow in suit, interspersed with wet, sucking kisses that leave Blaine panting and moaning into Kurt’s mouth.

 

Kurt yanks open a side table drawer and pulls out lube and a condom before pushing it closed again. “You good with bottom, sweetie?”

 

Blaine nods frantically. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”

 

“Good.” Kurt grips Blaine’s thigh firmly and _pulls_ , and Blaine flops onto his stomach, hardly catching his breath before Kurt wraps an arm low on his waist and hauls his ass up into the air. “Fuck, your ass is perfect, baby.”

 

‘Then fuck it already,” Blaine laughs breathily, looking back at Kurt with a grin.

 

“I fully intend to. Spread your legs a little.” Blaine complies, sliding his knees apart on the mattress and feeling Kurt’s thighs scoot into the space between. “Just like that, baby. Perfect.”

 

Two cold, wet fingers trace circles around Blaine’s entrance, and Blaine shivers but leans back anyway. He needs _something_ of this man inside of him as soon as humanly possible before he explodes. He whimpers out a small “Please”, that burgeons into a moan when Kurt slips one finger in to the first knuckle. “Come on, I can take more. Just—all of it, come on.”

 

Kurt chuckles as he grips one of Blaine’s cheeks with his free hand and spreads it open to get a better view. “So young and eager. I think I could get used to you.” Kurt obliges, his finger slipping deeper until the webbing between his fingers tickles at Blaine’s rim. Those words— _I could get used to you_ —Blaine feels like he’s going to overflow. That maybe…maybe this won’t be a one-time thing.

 

Being filled like this—even just one finger—is incredible. Blaine hasn’t gotten laid in god knows how long, and having someone else’s finger inside of him is like his own personal heaven. And the fact that this man is _experienced_ just makes it a thousand times better. This man is so much older, wiser, sexier than any other man Blaine has been with. A part of him feels insecure about it, despite being far from a virgin; however, Kurt making it clear that he revels in Blaine’s youth makes it worthwhile, less self-conscious.

 

So he lets himself be loud when Kurt begins fucking that one finger inside of him to start loosening him up. And he lets himself beg for a second until Kurt takes pity on him and adds another, smoothly fucking them in and out as Blaine’s knees gradually slip wider and wider on the bed to accommodate them.

 

“Christ you take it well, don’t you baby? So fucking good at taking my fingers. Can’t wait to see how you suck up my cock,” Kurt indulges, and the words only make Blaine moan more. He stretches a hand back to help Kurt, grasping his other ass cheek and pulling it open as he thrusts back onto Kurt’s fingers shamelessly.

 

“God, three, I’m ready, come on.”

 

Kurt bites a wet kiss into the flesh of his ass before removing his fingers to add more lube, but wastes no time in shoving back in with three this time—and now the stretch is _incredible_. It hurts, burns, but in just the way Blaine _loves_ it, so he doesn’t complain. He whines with it, continuing to fuck backwards as his fingers slip from his cheek and repositioning himself up onto his forearms to hold himself up.

 

Kurt doesn’t spend much time with the three, just stretching him open enough to take it easy before tearing open the condom and prepping his cock. Blaine’s mind is overwhelmed with how well this man seems to _know_ him, know his kinks without having spent any time with him at all. Kurt is extraordinary, a fuckable wonder, and Blaine wants him for his own. He’s still not sure if this is a one-night-stand kind of thing or a fuck-buddies thing or if Kurt is actually _interested_ in Blaine as a potential partner.

 

Blaine doesn’t let himself linger on that last one. They hardly know each other, but Blaine is astute enough to recognize that Kurt isn’t going to throw away his life on some twenty-something twink when he could have someone older and more experienced than he is.

 

And that’s okay, because Blaine is perfectly content to just be underneath this man for as long as Kurt will let him. He’s okay with being a fuck toy as long as Kurt just keeps doing everything he’s doing right now.

 

Then Kurt is pressing the head of his cock to Blaine’s hole, and he’s trying his best not to coil and tense up in excited anticipation. “Put it in, put it in, please! Put your cock in me, Kurt,” Blaine cries, arching his back to raise his ass higher and entice him.

 

“God, you are positively the most delectable creature I’ve ever had my cock against, Blaine,” Kurt marvels. Those words have Blaine brimming with pride, licking his lips as he thrusts back softly as feels Kurt’s cock press and sink in against his waiting hole. The moment his cock breaches his hole, a relieved gasp leaves Blaine’s mouth, his breath hitching as Kurt _keeps pushing in_ without stopping.

 

“Ohhh _god_ , Kurt. Yes, keep going. Bury it in me, make me take it.”

 

Kurt moans loudly, gripping Blaine’s hips tightly in his fingers. “Jesus, Blaine, you are so fucking hot. Open up for my cock,” He commands, and Blaine does. He groans and takes it until he feels Kurt’s hips flush against his ass and Kurt’s hands smooth up his back until they hook over Blaine’s shoulders possessively.

 

Blaine feels so overwrought in the most amazing way. Kurt is everywhere, smothering him and filling him so fucking well that is makes him shake. His ass stretches artfully around Kurt’s cock, and he wishes he could see it.

 

“Mmm you want me to take a little video, baby?” Kurt croons as he thrusts leisurely inside of him and…right Blaine must have said that out loud.

 

Blaine finds himself saying, “Yes, god, _please_. I want…I want to see how you fill me so bad.” Blaine has never before considered making a sex tape. He’s had good sex, had mind-blowing sex partners, but…Blaine just wants to remember this in case it never happens again. Kurt is…Kurt is ephemeral. Ethereal. Almost like vapor, like he’ll slip right through his fingers. And he’ll do anything to solidify this experience.

 

“Where’s your phone, sweetie?” Kurt asks, massaging his ass cheeks in his broad hands as he fucks smoothly into Blaine.

 

“ _Christ_ —pocket of my jeans. Left pocket.”

 

Kurt begins to pull out slowly, but then grabs one of Blaine’s hands roughly and pulls it back to where Kurt is filling him. “Keep yourself open with your fingers, baby. Nice and open for me.” Blaine whimpers, but obeys, and as soon as Kurt’s cock is clear from his ass, he replaces it with three fingers, sliding them as deep as he can from his position which is only to about the second knuckle.

 

Regardless, Kurt moans at the sight of it, “God, that’s so gorgeous baby. Hold it open just like that while I get your phone.”

 

Blaine has no problem following his orders, and he starts to fuck them shallowly in his ass as he watches Kurt’s flawless, naked body pilfer through his jeans until he retrieves his phone. He holds it up triumphantly for a moment and Blaine grins as Kurt winks at him. Kurt spends a moment navigating until he seems satisfied, having found the camera.

 

Kneeling back onto the bed, Kurt whispers, “Aaaand, action!” and Blaine hears the tiny pinging noise that signifies that he’s started recording. Kurt moves back behind Blaine, aiming the camera at Blaine’s flushed ass. “Fuck, look how well you fill that ass with your fingers, baby. Can you fuck yourself for me?”

 

Blaine moans, thinking about how this is actually being _recorded_ , but he’s powerless to obey. He thrusts his fingers into himself again, gasping quietly at how good it feels, but secretly hoping that the microphone picks up the noise. Kurt’s hand grips his ass again, squeezing and smoothing before swatting at him, completely out of the blue.

 

Blaine cries out at the prickling blow, following it up with a moan. “Please fuck me,” Blaine whimpers.

 

Kurt apparently doesn’t need telling twice, and he positions himself accordingly. Blaine tugs his fingers from his ass, and uses both of his hands to pull apart his ass cheeks for Kurt.

 

“What a good boy, baby. Keep those cheeks spread and let me at that pretty hole.” Kurt keeps a hand on the phone, and Blaine watches as his eyes continually dart back to it to make sure the angle is right as Kurt pushes inside of him once more. Blaine moans again, maybe a little bit louder than he would have simply for the benefit of the camera, and keeps it up as Kurt begins fucking into him in earnest.

 

“Oh—oh _fuck_ , please. Fuck me, fuck me harder, please.”

 

Kurt _growls_ , picking up his pace, and Blaine looks back to see the phone had been moved _much_ closer to where Kurt is disappearing inside of him. Blaine is sure the picture will be jolty and the sound of their skin smacking together will be obscenely loud in playback, but all of that just makes Blaine want _more_. “Take it, baby, take it,” Kurt demands through gritted teeth, and Blaine submits so willingly.

 

“Yes, fuck, take everything you give me. Need you to come on my ass,” Blaine admits, thrusting back wildly as he feels his orgasm grow inside of him.

 

“Want me to paint that pretty ass, baby? Paint it white with my come?”

 

Blaine practically sobs with want as he gives his assent, readjusting his grip on his ass to make sure the camera has a clear shot.

 

“So fucking beautiful, baby. Tighten up your hole for me. Gonna come all over your pretty ass.”

 

Kurt’s thrusts become harsh, erratic, and his moans billow louder right before he finally pulls out of Blaine without warning, and Blaine whips his head around to see Kurt tearing off the condom and aiming the camera perfectly as he strokes at his cock rapidly for mere moments before Kurt is grunting his release all over Blaine’s skin. Stripes of come land hot over his stretched asshole and on his red cheeks, a couple of strands splattering over Blaine’s hands that religiously spread open his own ass.

 

Blaine hears a second pinging as the recording ends, and he doesn’t have time to register exactly what it means in his head before Kurt is flipping him over with surety, the phone discarded on the mattress, as Kurt’s hand closes hot and fast around Blaine’s cock. It doesn’t take more than a few strokes for Blaine to spill over Kurt’s fist and keen into the thick air of the room, his hips jerking violently into Kurt’s hand as he strokes him through it.

 

“Holy fucking hell,” Kurt pants, wiping his hand up Blaine’s chest and smearing his own come into his skin. “You’re sending me that video.”

 

Blaine can barely form a laugh as his breath slowly comes back to his lungs, but he is definitely able to smile. “Absolutely. I have a feeling it’s going to get hours of play time when I’m alone.”

 

Kurt’s laugh is cherubic, elegant, as he falls down next to Blaine to catch his own breath.

 

*

 

Blaine is pulled from his post-sex reverie by the loud blaring of a ringtone that he doesn’t recognize.

 

Kurt grumbles as he rolls out of the bed and snatches his phone up from his own discarded jeans. But the grumbling doesn’t last long and is replaced with alarm very quickly when he sees the call screen. He points to Blaine and whispers harshly, “Keep your mouth shut and don’t make a sound, understand?”

 

Blaine is confused, but he nods. Only after Blaine has agreed does Kurt answer the call.

 

“Hello? Hi, honey…I’m just fine, how are you?”

 

There’s a longer silence, and Blaine can’t hear what the other person is saying, but suddenly Kurt has an even more panicked look on his face, smacking a hand over his mouth. “Oh, oh you’re coming home _now_? But you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow! Oh that’s _great_ , honey!”

 

Kurt wheels around as he slaps a hand over the microphone of his phone, whispering hurriedly to Blaine, “Get dressed! Now!” before returning the phone to his ear. “Where are you now? Oh, already that close, you should have told me sooner!” Kurt says, a bit of hysteria creeping into his voice as he looks at Blaine again with intensity.

 

Blaine jumps up from the bed, not sure what’s happening, but figuring someone is coming over that would not be happy to see Blaine at Kurt’s apartment. He grabs at his clothes and starts pulling them on as quickly as he can, still keeping an ear on the conversation over the phone.

 

“Ok, sweetie, I’ll see you in a couple minute then! Ok, bye!” Kurt jabs the “end call” button and chucks the phone on the bed and begins snatching up his clothes as well.

 

“Kurt, who the hell was that?” Blaine asks, tugging his shirt over his head.

 

Kurt doesn’t answer, just says, “You need to get out of here, _now_.” He zips up his pants and spins around frantically, searching for his button up, before finally spotting it and wrenching it on and doing it up at lightning speed. “And I mean like, _right now_.”

 

“Okay, okay!” Blaine finds his second shoe and tugs it on, and he’s finally fully dressed. Not a moment passes before Kurt is ushering him out the door and shoving Blaine’s phone into his hand, a chorus of “go, go, go!” leaving his mouth. Blaine is so confused, feels so disoriented and rushed, but most of all disappointed. “Wait, Kurt, I don’t even have your number!” He says as he clings to the frame of the front door.

 

Kurt looks at him desperately, peering into the hallway for a moment. “Kurt Hummel, Vogue headquarters, I’m not that hard to find, ok? Just go!” And then the door is slammed in his face, almost shutting on his fingers if Blaine hadn’t removed them half a second prior.

 

He stares at the shut door for a moment, blinking wildly before turning to face the hallway. Blaine makes his way down the lavish hall to the elevator on the opposite end, and as he arrives the metal doors slide open to reveal a handsome, sharply dressed man. He’s tall, about as tall as Kurt, with sleek auburn hair and pleasant laugh lines crevassed into his cheeks, and he’s sporting a small suitcase in one hand and a briefcase in the other, his ring finger glinting with expensive gold—marriage material, then. Blaine can’t help but think that’s a bit of a shame, because he wouldn’t mind fooling around with this stranger either. The man gives Blaine nothing more than a passing inclination of the head and a smile as he passes by him. Blaine smiles back in customary greeting, despite the strange array of madness flying around his head.

 

His curiosity gets the better of him, and he turns around to watch where the man goes. Unexpectedly, he stops in front of the door Blaine had just exited from. He doesn’t knock, just enters. And the only thing Blaine hears before the door swings shut behind him is a cheerful, “Where’s my sexy husband?”

 

And just like that, he feels like his insides drop into his stomach. And the last few minutes click into place.

 

 _Husband_.

 

Kurt is _married_.

 

Blaine just fucked a married man.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt had been right; Blaine had no trouble finding him at all. The next morning at work he plucked his copy of Vogue which he had—oh so twist-of-fatedly—been scanning when Kurt had stepped into the boutique from underneath the front desk. Then he began searching. Page by page, he perused the names of the pages until he spied the name he was looking for.

 

Page 125 is where he spots him. And again on 126. And 127.

 

Beautiful models posing in fantastical clothing, spectacular and impressive as it always is in Vogue. The pages in question highlight a line of coordinated scarves and stockings. And off to the side, in the caption revealing the designers of certain articles of modeled clothing is his man. _Fashion_ _Editor: Kurt Hummel_.

 

Well, shit. Go figure the guy is married. He’s probably loaded. Loaded and gorgeous and prolific.

 

With this little tidbit of information, he does some serious googling. His search gives him the answers he desires.

 

His husband’s name is Craig Bennit. And they’ve apparently been married for seven years.

 

Seven. Fucking. Years.

 

It really doesn’t help that the couple is fucking stunning, front-cover material together. He’d noted how handsome the man had been when he bumped into him for those few moments at the elevator, but the thought of both of those beautiful men being married to each other…Yeah, it’s no brain teaser.

 

An article he finds is several years old, but it’s…god it’s absolutely laughable. _“He’s the leather loafers to my silk scarf. He’s perfect,” Hummel says of his husband of now two years. “We’re so happy together; I wouldn’t trade him for anything!”_

Blaine scoffs aloud in the empty store. _Yeah, you wouldn’t trade him for anything…except the first twenty-something that throws himself at you…_

Blaine exits out of the window with disgust, tossing his copy of Vogue into the trash under the front desk. An involuntary full-body shudder racks through him as his brain lingers once more on the fact that he _slept_ with a married man. A man who had been oh-so-happy with his husband mere _years_ ago. Or was he even happy then? Was it all for show?

 

Blaine got his basic information from the internet, but now he needs much more in-depth answers. After all, Kurt had said to call him up at Vogue. Blaine can’t live with this on his conscience much longer, and he’s off in a little bit anyway. He supposes he’ll make a little visit to Mr. Hummel, Vogue Fashion Editor.

 

***

 

“Excuse me. I’m here to see Mr. Kurt Hummel?”

 

The receptionist is a beautiful, debonair Asian woman, donning a dark, sleek braid off to the side of her head, and a headset. Her voice comes off dignified mixed with a little boredom at Blaine’s transparent banality—which Blaine expects. This is fucking Vogue headquarters. “Do you have an appointment?”

 

Blaine scratches at the back of his head self-consciously, ducking his head. He’s unable to keep from scrutinizing his own clothes, a bright polo with a bowtie and high-risers. He may be dressed alright, but it’s not Vogue-standard—anybody in this building could tell from a mile away that he wasn’t in designer clothing. “I don’t, no. But he told me to come track him down? Could you maybe just…page him? Tell him Blaine Anderson is—?”

 

“Mr. Hummel doesn’t speak without an appointment. Maybe if you schedule one, he will find time in his _incredibly_ busy schedule for someone as…” she pauses, looking him up and down before smirking condescendingly, “ _charming_ as you.”

 

Before Blaine catches himself, he mumbles out, “Seemed to have plenty of time for me last night…”

 

The receptionist gives a disbelieving _hah_ in response. “Yeah, I’m so sure, little dreamer. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you aren’t going to make an appointment.”

 

“I shouldn’t _need_ an appointment! Why can’t you just _page_ him?”

 

The woman raises a critical eyebrow at him. “Mr. Hummel is in a very important meeting at the moment. He did not leave a message with me to send anyone to see him. You could be an insane stalker for all I know, and I will _not_ get my ass chopped off because you have a teenage infatuation. Now, I hope you have a nice day. Please leave before I have to call security.”

 

Blaine heaves a sigh, giving the receptionist one more begging look, received with an expression of stone, before resigning. He turns to leave, but only gets a few steps forward before he _hears_ that laugh, loud and clear. He twirls back around, and there Kurt is, crossing behind the front desk with several glamorous co-workers, chatting and laughing jovially as they go.

 

Blaine doesn’t think, just calls out, “Kurt!”

 

Kurt’s head jerks toward Blaine, his bright smile instantly wilting into horror the moment he registers who he is. His eyes bulge slightly as he freezes where he stands. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Blaine flounders. “I…You…”

 

The receptionist stands abruptly, glaring at Blaine. “I told you to leave, sir. And you _will_ leave.”

 

“Kurt, I need to talk to you.” Blaine insists, stepping forward.

 

Kurt tugs at his lip with his teeth, propping his hand on his hip. “Bl—…Look, we can’t do this. I told you to _call_ , not to come here!” Kurt stumbles over Blaine’s name, and it’s not difficult to understand why. He doesn’t want anyone to know Blaine’s name, the boy he had an affair with. From the way the receptionist had laughed off Blaine’s insinuations earlier, it’s clear that nobody suspects that Kurt is unfaithful in his marriage.

 

Blaine gets a little more aggressive this time. “ _We. Need. To. Talk._ You owe it to me _._ ”

 

Kurt’s eyes skitter around, his hand fluffing his hair in what seems to be a nervous tick. “Ok, fuck, _okay_. Jesus, just…fine.” He turns his attention to the receptionist who is getting increasingly more irritated at Blaine’s persistence. “Tabitha, hold my calls for the next while, please.”

 

“But Mr. Hummel—”

 

“Thank you, Tabitha,” Kurt presses authoritatively, and she sighs and nods, flopping dejectedly back into her chair. He turns his eyes back to Blaine. “You. Come on.” Blaine scurries to follow Kurt, who blazes a trail ahead of his coworkers, straight to his office.

 

And god, his office is _nice_. He knew he was about a dozen stories high, since he had to take the elevator just to get to the proper desk to inquire after Kurt. The windows overlook the city, the desk situated in front of them is cherry oak, directly opposite the heavy door that falls closed and locks behind them. Kurt snaps the blinds shut on the internal windows that look into the rest of the office and staggers behind his desk to collapse into his expensive-looking wheeled chair.

 

“Ok look Blaine; I just got out of a five-fucking-hour long meeting with a dozen obnoxious reps, so this better be fast. You’ve already set me off enough just _showing up_ here so fucking casually. So please tell me what you want and get out.”

 

Blaine just stands there for a few seconds, staring at Kurt from the center of the lavish office. “Kurt…do you really not know why I’m here?”

 

Kurt shrugs. “You’re upset that I kicked you out so brusquely? Not exactly material to fuel barging in on me at work—”

 

“You’re _married_ , Kurt!”

 

Kurt blinks. He thinks he sees Kurt’s lower lip quiver for the barest of moments. “How did you know that?”

 

Blaine’s feet lead him forward, until he’s leaning on the opposite side of Kurt’s desk, palms digging into the edge. “Because I ran into your husband in the elevator, _Mr. Hummel_ ,” Blaine mocks. “So _cute_ that he still calls you his ‘sexy little husband’, isn’t it? Must love you a whole goddamn lot…Craig, is it? Craig just seems like the _sweetest_.”

 

Kurt sits upright in his chair, glaring back at Blaine. “You don’t know _shit_ , honey. Don’t pretend that you do because you know how to read articles on the internet. You don’t know _me_ and you don’t know our relationship. So you can shut the fuck up with your assumptions or get the fuck out of my office and never come back. You’re a _child_ , Blaine. Me fucking you did not make you a _man_.”

 

“Oh, but cheating on your husband with a ‘child’ makes _you_ a man? Fucking someone years younger than you strengthens your marriage, hmm?”

 

“What did I just say about making assumptions, Blaine?”

 

“How could you not _tell me_ , Kurt?” Blaine says, trying to keep his voice down, because Kurt is right; Blaine really doesn’t know much about anything, and that is why he came to talk to Kurt in the first place. “How is that fair to me? You made me your ‘other woman’ and I didn’t even know it! You pulled me into this when I didn’t even know what I was signing up for.”

 

“I couldn’t risk it, Blaine!” Kurt counters, leaning forward. “We did it _once_! That hardly constitutes an affair. An affair is an agreement of both parties, Blaine. Read a book…”

 

“That isn’t the point. You made me think you were single. And…god you’re _married_ , Kurt!” Blaine flings himself off the desk and beings to pace wildly; running his fingers through his hair as the gravity of it all just _falls_ onto his shoulders.

 

“Blaine, I’m sorry.” The words come as a surprise, and Blaine’s attention goes to Kurt once again, wrenching his hands from his hair. Kurt looks repentant, his fingers picking at the wood of his desk. “You’re right, I should have told you. But now you know.”

 

Now Blaine “knows?” What is that supposed to mean? Blaine isn’t positive, but he thinks that Kurt is implying that he might want to do this again. That the little rendezvous between them might be more than an adulterous fling. That thought alone terrifies Blaine. He has no idea if he’d actually _want_ to help Kurt to cheat on his husband. Now that he knows, it feels like a betrayal to Kurt’s husband. Then again, Blaine doesn’t even _know_ Kurt’s husband. Blaine knows Kurt—well, knows his body, and certainly knows him as a person better than he knows Craig—so what does Blaine owe Kurt’s husband? _The truth_ , Blaine’s mind supplies. _Isn’t that what you would want if your husband was cheating on you?_

 

Blaine is so confused. Torn in two. He doesn’t know _what_ he should do. All he knows is that he liked being with Kurt. Liked being fucked by him. He still likes being around him. But now Blaine is mentally jumping the gun; he doesn’t even know if Kurt is interested in Blaine as a person anymore, let alone interested in _sleeping_ with him again.

“Kurt, do you…really intend to keep this up? I mean…I’m not the first one you’ve…”

 

“You are. You’re the first,” Kurt admits. This shocks Blaine. He’s actually the first that Kurt has been with? He’s not tenth in a long string of lovers over the past several years? “And I don’t know if I want…god, I liked what we did, Blaine. I really did,” He shares, looking up at Blaine earnestly. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. I _really_ liked it.”

 

Something a lot like arousal burns hot in Blaine’s stomach at Kurt’s confession. “Yeah?” Blaine asks, intrigue creeping into the word.

 

Kurt’s smile is almost shy as he nods. “Yes. You were amazing, Blaine. And I’d…I’d want it again, I can’t lie. I’d want _you_ again.”

 

There it is. And Blaine still has no fucking idea what to do with it. “Kurt…I don’t know…”

 

“Blaine…Sit.” He suggests, gesturing to the seat across from him. Blaine accepts the offer, pulling the chair out and plopping down into it. Kurt prefaces his words with a sigh, folding his hands atop his desk and looking straight at Blaine. “My marriage is not healthy for me. You may have heard something different…hell, even _Craig_ would say differently. But I am not happy. What Craig and I have is…it’s spoiled, Blaine. That’s the short and tall of it. And I need an escape or else I’ll go ape shit.”

 

Blaine’s eyes narrow quizzically. “Then why don’t you get a divorce?”

 

“I already told you, Blaine. Craig doesn’t see anything wrong with us. Why would a divorce be necessary if there isn’t a problem, right?” Kurt laughs hollowly, staring distantly to his right, before blinking and fixing his eyes back on Blaine.

 

“And you think that sleeping with someone else is going to change all that?”

 

Kurt shrugs one shoulder, leaning back in his chair. “Sure as hell seemed to work yesterday before Craig came home and fucked it up.”

 

“But Kurt, Craig is always going to be there to ‘fuck it up’ until you end it. Temporary happiness doesn’t last. That’s why it’s called ‘temporary’.”

 

The look on Kurt’s face is a dark kind of amusement. “Yes, but at least it’s something. Temporary is better than never.”

 

Blaine’s eyebrows furrow in concern, shifting his weight onto his forearms as he rests them on the desk. “Are you really that unhappy, Kurt?”

 

Kurt stares bluntly back. “You have no idea, Blaine. No fucking idea.”

 

Blaine bites his lip in thought, eyes flickering over the papers and designs and spreads littering Kurt’s desk. As much as Blaine doesn’t want to be an accessory to cheating…it’s _Kurt_. Kurt is older and sexy and he _wants him_. And Blaine’s horniness and desire to live out his kinks are biased. So, so biased. “It would be so dangerous, Kurt. If we were to pursue this, there would be so many risks.”

 

“You liked being with me, didn’t you?” Kurt asks.

 

“Of course I did,” Blaine assures, cupping a hand over Kurt’s folded ones. “It was amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

 

A shadow of a smile plays on Kurt’s lips. “So, what do you say? Will you indulge me? Can we…make this a thing?”

 

“You mean an—an affair? Like, a _real_ affair? You want me to be your lover?” The thought has a smile tugging at Blaine’s mouth. There’s excitement. There’s anxiety too, but so much _thrill_ in it as well.

 

Kurt looks incredibly amused, smiling all the way to his eyes and pressing a knuckle to his mouth before speaking. “Yes, Blaine. You’d be my lover. How does that sound?”

 

“Scandalous! It’s so _Me and Mrs. Jones_ …” Blaine chuckles briefly.

 

Kurt turns his palms upward in a broad gesture. “Just call me Mr. Jones.” He finishes it off with a wink.

 

Blaine bites his lip again, standing up to bend over the desk, closer to Kurt. To hell with inhibitions. “May I kiss my official Mr. Jones, then?”

 

Kurt scrunches up his nose with a smile, leaning upwards to press their lips together. It’s warm and wonderful and so _taboo_ that it makes Blaine’s cock stir. He hums into it happily, breaking it off only when he can’t keep the grin off his face, but still keeping their foreheads pressed together.

 

“This is really fucking hot,” Blaine confesses with a breathy laugh, pulling a laugh from Kurt in return.

 

“Yeah, just a little,” Kurt mutters before sucking Blaine’s lips in between his once more, this time tickling his tongue along the seam of them. It takes less than a second for Blaine to part them for Kurt to enter, and even less time for Blaine to throw all reservations he may have had mere moments before out the window, and hurtle headfirst into _Kurt_. His…his _lover._

 

His own personal Mrs. Jones.

 

***

 

They might have gotten a _little_ caught up. And by “a little” they mean a lot. Blaine isn’t sure how he ended up straddling Kurt in his office chair with soft hands scrubbing up and down the skin of his back where Kurt had rucked up his shirt. He has no clue when his bowtie came undone, or the buttons of his polo, or when they started dry-humping through their pants, letting out quiet noises of pleasure that drown between their latched mouths.

 

This is definitely the riskiest thing that Blaine has done, and second place is miles behind in the bathroom stall of a New York gay club. Kurt is just as delicious as he’d been last night, possibly more with the added fact that what they’re doing is forbidden. Each roll of his hips is that much sexier; each flick of his tongue is that much dirtier.

 

It’s wrong. It’s inappropriate. It shouldn’t be happening.

 

But god, it is, and it feels _so good_.

 

The words rolling around in Blaine’s mind finally manifest themselves into audible words as Kurt is sucking wet kisses down his neck. “You should fuck me. Here in your office. Just to celebrate.”

 

Kurt’s teeth nip at his skin _hard_ at the suggestion, pulling a dangerously loud gasp from Blaine. “Would you like that? Knowing someone could knock on that door any second? We’ve already been in here _ages_ and the longer we stay, the more of a threat it is.”

 

Blaine tips his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and allows Kurt to _take_. “Then you better do it fast, hadn’t you?”

 

Kurt growls, lurching Blaine off his lap and then bending him face-first over the desk in one swift movement. His breath is hot at Blaine’s ear, tongue tracing erotic patterns along it as he massages Blaine’s ass through his pants. “You want me to fuck your tight, pretty little ass in my office? I’ve fucked Craig in here _plenty_ of times, you know. Do you think you can compete?”

 

Blaine _really_ doesn’t want to hear about Craig right now, but he is pretty sure this is going to be a part of the deal. Besides, being a better fuck than Kurt’s own husband is an unbelievably desirable concept. “God, I _know_ I can. I’ll be so much better than him, come on.” He thrusts his ass back into Kurt’s hands, urging.

 

“You’re lucky I keep supplies in my drawer for such occasions or you’d just have to suck me off from under my desk or something…”

 

“That can be arranged for another time. But right now I just need you to fuck my ass. Please.”

 

Kurt hums in his ear and begins working on Blaine’s pants until they drop around his ankles with his underwear. “Open up those legs, baby, as far as you can.”

 

Blaine whimpers, parting his feet until his pants restrict him from spreading any further. Kurt jerks one of his drawers open, rifling around until he comes up with supplies and immediately squirts some lube onto his hand from the small bottle. Cool fingers start at the top of his ass, dragging slowly between his cheeks before they reach Blaine’s clenching hole.

 

“Can you take two, honey?”

 

“ _God_ , yes. Fast, do it fast. I can take it.” Two fingers breach his entrance and he has to bite into his bicep to keep from crying out. A keening noise makes its way out as Kurt starts to thrust his fingers all the way in and back out again, stretching him. Kurt’s other hand grips one cheek firmly and tugs it aside, making the slide a little easier.

 

“You just suck these right up, don’t you baby? You’re so eager for me. You want three?”

 

“Yes,” Blaine sobs quietly, working his ass back onto Kurt’s fingers. “Give me three.”

 

Kurt obeys, re-lubing and adding a third finger, and it’s not long until he’s begging for more—begging for cock. Kurt bites Blaine’s earlobe as he pulls his fingers out to pull himself out of his pants and wrangle on a condom. His cock feels unfathomably large pressed against his small hole, but god he wants. And for such a tiny passage Blaine lets him inside easy, almost embarrassingly easy. Kurt grunts in his ear as he pushes in for the first time, stretching around Blaine’s ass so fucking beautifully. It feels so amazing that he wishes he could see it; it’s then he remembers that there is a video waiting for him on his iPhone that he has yet to watch of this very thing. The thought makes him moan.

 

“You like this, baby? Like being filled by my cock?”

 

Blaine whines out an affirmation, bracing himself against the desk when Kurt’s thrusts pick up. The reality hits him that he is actually having _office sex_. He’s being fucked over a desk by an _older man_ who is _married_ and wants to get his rocks off in a younger specimen.

 

He’s living in a fucking porno, and Blaine has never been happier.

 

Kurt’s hips slap mutedly against his ass, and Blaine’s hips subsequently smack against the edge of the desk. The bite of the wood against his bare skin feels so erotic, so sexy, and so _good_. He has to remember to bite his tongue—literally sometimes—to keep from yelling out and giving them away to the rest of the office. Blaine is positive that this isn’t the only office that has withheld sexual interaction behind closed doors—it’s Vogue after all. Tons of beautiful people skirting around other beautiful people. But the fact that Blaine is contributing to that count… _god_ he really _could_ scream if he dared.

 

Without warning, Kurt is hauling Blaine back against his chest, upright, and guiding him around. Blaine isn’t quite sure what he’s doing until— _oh_. The cool press of the window is at his cheek and the naked skin of his hip. Kurt thrusts _up_ and Blaine grunts as quietly as he can. His breath fogs up the window in billows as he stares down at the small cars and pedestrians below on the streets. God, any _one_ of them could look up and see him getting fucked, see him taking it from a prolific, _married_ fashion editor of famous _Vogue_ magazine, and it turns him on _so much_.

 

Every fucking of Kurt’s cock into his ass sends a hot spark up his spine, every filthy word Kurt mutters in his ear is a secret that can never be told.

 

“You love this, huh? Getting fucked against the window where _anyone_ could see?”

 

“Yes, Kurt, please. God, fuck me,” He moans out, the clouding of his breath growing so wide on the glass that everything he sees is distorted with it. Kurt’s hips slam upwards inside him, and Blaine’s hands streak the windows with sweat, dragging down, scratching for purchase where there’s nothing to hold. Heat builds in his stomach, tugs at his balls, and he whines, “Kurt, fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna come so hard, _please_.”

 

Kurt _yanks_ his hips away from the window, his ass sticking out profusely while his face remains pressed against the glass, and Kurt resumes _fucking_. His soft hand wraps tight around Blaine’s cock as his hips crash into him over and over until Blaine can’t take it and he _comes_. His vision blurs and his body vibrates with the force of it as Kurt continues to get himself off in his ass. Kurt grunts out his release a couple minutes after Blaine’s own, stilling inside of him as he fills the condom. Kurt comes down quickly, extracting himself from Blaine as well as the condom from his dick before tying it up, wrapping it in a tissue, and tossing it in the trash.

 

Kurt stumbles back against his desk, leaning heavily on it as he stares at Blaine with glazed eyes. “God I love office fucking…”

 

Blaine chuckles, his face still on fire from the heavy exertion as he pulls up his pants. He saunters over to Kurt, working his spent cock back into his own pants blindly as he kisses Kurt for all he’s worth. He uses the kiss as a distraction, he knows, because if he has to actually _look_ at Kurt’s cock while he tries to put it away, he knows he won’t want to hide it from daylight again. Unless it’s buried in his ass again. “You’re really good at it,” He whispers against Kurt’s lips.

 

Kurt hums contentedly. “So are you.”

 

“Better than Craig?” Blaine teases, licking playfully at Kurt’s closed lips. Kurt snaps his teeth just as friskily after Blaine’s tongue as soon as he retracts it. Kurt’s hands wrap tightly around Blaine’s waist with a bright smile.

 

“God, _so_ much better.”

 

“Good.”

 

Kurt helps Blaine to become presentable again, loaning him some gel he has stored in his desk for emergencies to style his fucked up sex hair. “Now get out of here,” Kurt says, swatting at Blaine’s ass.

 

Blaine squeaks and jumps at the action, his ass still tender from the rough fucking it just received. “Can I at least get your number this time?”

 

Kurt grins, nodding, and holds his hand out for Blaine’s phone. Kurt enters it swiftly, sending himself a text as well, and slips it back into Blaine’s pocket. Before Blaine can leave, Kurt tugs him forward once more; their lips close enough to brush and threatening another kiss. But they don’t press together. Kurt’s voice is low and sexy when he speaks. “I still expect you to send me that video.”

 

Blaine leaves the office a little dazed and a lot on cloud nine, with a throbbing ass and the promise of more. Very, very soon.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s mid-way through what he believes is an award-winning blowjob when Kurt’s phone goes off.

 

Normally he’d ignore it, but it’s _Craig’s_ designated ringtone. Kurt gives him a sympathetic face before guiding Blaine off his cock and rolling off the bed, perfectly naked, to grab his phone. Blaine huffs, face-planting into the bed as he waits. Kurt’s end of the conversation flows dreary through his ears.

 

“Hey, baby…Not much, just watching Top Model…Where your _silver_ cufflinks are? I don’t know, honey.”

 

The idea comes out of nowhere, but it consumes Blaine nonetheless, and he’s slinking off the bed and stalking towards Kurt with a devilish look in his eyes. Kurt shoots him a look of distracted confusion as Blaine comes closer, still absorbed in the phone conversation.

 

“I have no idea, Craig. Did you check y—” Kurt cuts off abruptly the moment Blaine drops to his knees in front of him, his face changing to one of shock, shaking his head frantically as it dawns on him exactly what Blaine intends to do. “No!” He mouths forcefully, but Blaine just grins evilly up at him and wraps his fingers unyieldingly around Kurt. He mouths more “no”s, using his free hand to swat at Blaine’s hand, but he sinks down on him anyway, encasing the head of Kurt’s hard cock into the heat of his mouth. His eyes don’t leave Kurt’s.

 

Kurt lets out an audible whimper before he is able to smack a hand over his mouth and slam the back of his head against the wall, snapping his eyes shut like his life depended on it.

 

But Kurt doesn’t make another move to stop Blaine. So he starts to bob and suck. He can hear a warped version of Craig on the other end now, being so close, and it only drives Blaine to go faster, be better than _him_.

 

_“Kurt? Kurt are you still there?”_

“Yes,” Kurt forces out, his voice wrapping around a tiny squeak that escapes along with it. “I’m—I’m here, Craig. Just the TV, sorry.” His eyes remain crushed closed, always returning his hand over his mouth after he’s finished speaking. Blaine can’t contain the grin that overtakes his mouth as he continues to blow Kurt like nothing had interrupted them at all.

 

Soon, Kurt’s hips start to buck forward, and Blaine doesn’t argue, cupping Kurt’s hipbones as he starts to take him in deeper and Kurt starts to lose restraint.

 

“I’m sorry, honey, we’ll look for them when you get _ho!_ —ome!” Kurt barely keeps it together as Blaine works his tongue rough under the ridge of his cock, right where Blaine knows that Kurt can’t resist.

 

_“Are you sure you’re okay, baby? I can come home—”_

“Yes, baby, I’m fine! Don’t rush home. I’ll look aro— _oh_ —around for those cufflinks.”

 

_“Alright, if you’re sure. I’ll see you tonight then, baby.”_

“Ok- _aaay_.”

 

_“Love you.”_

“L-love you,” Kurt manages little more than a gasp before jamming his finger on the ‘end call’ button and chucking his phone to the ground with a loud cry. “Fuck, Blaine! That was _not_ okay!”

 

Blaine doesn’t respond, just looks smugly up at him as he continues to work Kurt in his mouth without shame.

 

Kurt groans, ripping his fingers into Blaine’s hair as he begins to fuck into his mouth _hard_ and Blaine starts to choke at the brute force of it, but ever so happily.

 

“You are going to get it _so fucking bad_ , you little shit. I’m going to spank and fuck your ass into next week.”

 

Blaine is surprised he’s not actually glowing as Kurt abuses his throat like his own personal fuck toy. The fact that Kurt hadn’t forced him away while on the phone with his _husband_ and getting a blowjob from his _lover_ at the same time speaks volumes to Blaine.

 

In short, he’s never felt more useful. And the marks Kurt leaves on his ass will definitely linger for a few days as a reminder.

 

***

 

6:30.

 

That’s their time. Every weekday. Blaine gets off at six and Kurt usually around the same time, if not a little later. Still, the six-thirty time frame allows them time to freshen up before they meet—despite both of them knowing that they’re going to end up sweaty and speckled in come anyway. Craig almost never gets home before eight, but Blaine always leaves by then to be safe.

 

They’ll go for coffee, window shop, maybe stop for a bite of dinner; whatever they do, they always end up at one of their apartments. Most often they opt for Kurt’s, mainly because his room and bed are larger, but also because sometimes Blaine’s roommate will be home randomly and they don’t want to go all the way down there just to discover him playing Call of Duty in the living room.

 

Artificial gun shots do not good orgasms make.

 

Besides, Blaine would be lying if it isn’t a little embarrassing that his home life is so positively college boy, while Kurt is so sophisticated and mature. It may be still near the beginning of summer and school is out, but Blaine still _is_ a college boy, and his roommate Markus is a _stoner_ college boy, and every time Kurt sets foot in his apartment Blaine can’t tone down the flush of shame that his apartment _looks_ and _reeks_ of college boy.

 

Kurt insists that he finds it “endearing” (Kurt’s word, not his), but he can tell they’re both much more comfortable at Kurt’s place. So that’s where they end up, tumbling into Kurt’s fluffy and freshly-laundered sheets only to mess them up again before Craig gets home. The risk is much higher, but the amenities are much better…and hell, the thrill is greater.

 

So they fuck. A lot. Which is great for both of them because before Kurt, Blaine hadn’t been laid in months and was certainly not getting it on the regular, and Kurt hadn’t had proper, _good_ sex with his husband in months either. They were both getting what they needed, and the sex was _always_ fantastic.

 

They also talk. They discuss interests, kinks, their pasts, favorite foods, worst movies ever made. Nothing is off-limits.

 

Well, one thing is kind of iffy, and Blaine discovered that about two months into their affair. He’d finally mustered the moxie to bring up a kink he’d wanted to try for a long time. He’d only delved into it once, with a one night stand who had initiated it so Blaine didn’t have to. But he’d always wanted to try it again. It’s just something that many people frown upon or just don’t understand. It makes him anxious to bring up. So far, though, Kurt had been very open to Blaine’s ideas and Blaine’s confidence (as well as his overwhelming desire to have a repeat) kicked in.

 

They’re in bed, wrapped in Kurt’s sheets where they’d ended up at 6:35 with absolutely no preamble. Today was _just sex_ , which happens sometimes, but Blaine had been the one to suggest it. He wanted a head start, to get in one round and still have plenty of time for another when Blaine finally brought up his question.

 

Kurt is silent next to him, basking in the setting sunlight through the window as well as the afterglow of great sex. Blaine is lying on his side, picking at the sheets with his fingers.

 

“Hey, Kurt?”

 

Kurt hums inquisitively. Blaine takes a deep breath and continues.

 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you about something? A kink? That I’d really like to try with you.”

 

Kurt’s eyes remain closed, at ease, when he responds. “I’d love to hear it, baby.”

 

“It’s, um, kind of…unconventional. And…perverted I guess?”

 

Kurt’s eyes flutter open, turning his head towards Blaine. “Spit it out, Blaine. I’m not going to judge you.”

 

It all comes out in a rush after that. “CanIcallyoudaddy?”

 

Kurt blinks. “What was that? Slower this time, please?”

 

Blaine sucks in another breath and lets it out slow. “Can I call you daddy? In bed?”

 

Kurt’s eyebrows peak at the suggestion. “Hmm…Never really thought about it.”

 

“Look, I know it’s weird and stupid and it’s _nothing_ like me calling you ‘Sir’ and it’s totally gross, but it’s just the _age_ thing and you being so _mature_ and—”

 

“Blaine!” Kurt laughs with amusement, placing a grounding hand on Blaine’s arm. “Calm down, baby. You don’t need to justify anything. Just let me think, yeah?”

 

Blaine blushes a little, but nods, skimming his lower teeth over his bottom lip repeatedly, nervously, as Kurt thinks.

 

“We can definitely try it,” Kurt finally answers, scooting closer to Blaine and draping an arm around his waist. “I mean, I probably could only get behind this if it stays inside the realm of fucking, but it’s most certainly worth trying.”

 

“I just…” Blaine mutters, looking shyly up at Kurt. “I can tell you have a great relationship with your dad, from what you’ve told me, and I don’t want to make that uncomfortable?”

 

A shimmer of something sad passes through Kurt’s eyes. “Blaine…I guarantee there is nothing that could be made awkward between my dad and me.”

 

“Are you sure?” Blaine asks tentatively.

 

“Blaine, my father’s dead.”

 

It feels like the air is knocked out of him, and Blaine suddenly feels like crying. “Wh-what? You never said…”

 

“I know I never said. It’s not something I usually talk about.”

 

“You just always talk about him like he’s still here…”

 

“That’s just the good ol’ false hope in me, B.” Kurt smiles wanly, his delicate fingers stroking soft over Blaine’s arm. “Almost eight years now.”

 

Blaine’s eyebrows pull down and he shifts into a sitting position. “Kurt, I’m sorry, I never would have brought that up if I knew.”

 

Kurt exhales a sigh that sounds taxing even to Blaine’s ears. He gives Blaine eyes that portray regretfulness for even broaching the subject at all. Blaine is filled with regret himself for making it worse. “Blaine, don’t give me the sympathy treatment, please. Besides, I already gave you my answer, and it’s not going to change. And if _you_ try to change it, it will only make me more obstinate.”

 

Blaine nods, easing himself back onto his side to look levelly at Kurt. “Okay. We’ll just…we’ll be careful about it, alright? I promise. I’ll be careful. And I’ll never just assume that you’ll be in the mood to…to play like that. I’ll let you be the decision maker.”

 

“You can request it, Blaine. And more than likely I’ll say yes, or go along with it. But you have to back off when I don’t.”

 

“Of course. Absolutely.”

 

“Now…” Kurt says, in a successful attempt at altering the mood, as he slings a leg over Blaine’s hips and loom over him seductively. “What do you say we take it out for a spin, huh? Right now. I don’t want this to be a sad thing. I want it to be a sexy thing.”

 

“You want… _now_?” Blaine says, flustered, his hands twitching to Kurt’s bare hips between which Kurt’s cock is hardening steadily. Blaine’s is as well, but he doesn’t have to look at it to know.

 

“Yes, baby. _Now_.” Kurt ducks down to Blaine’s face his lips ghosting over Blaine’s own. “Daddy wants to play _now_.”

 

Blaine lets out a barely audible whimper as he goes momentarily cross-eyed at Kurt’s proximity. _That word_ pouring from Kurt’s lips to Blaine’s ears has him hard and wanting more than ever. Blaine at last lets out the word he’s been dying to call Kurt since the moment he walked into the boutique. “I…I want to play too, daddy.”

 

Kurt grins, skimming his lips along Blaine’s jaw. “Mmm, my baby boy wants to play with daddy?”

 

It comes out as more of a squeak than anything else. “Yes, please.”

 

Kurt chuckles impishly in his ear, nipping at the lobe. “Daddy’s going to make you feel _so_ good, baby. Such a good little boy.”

 

When Blaine nearly comes the moment Kurt lays a hand on his cock, he knows he’s in for a rough hour.

 

***

 

“You are positively incandescent lately, Blainey. You get a boy or something?” Linda, the store owner, is rifling through the racks of clothes and organizing them before they open for the day. She peers over her shoulder at Blaine, who is setting up the register for the day.

 

Blaine blinks up at her, a little off-guard. “I—what?”

 

She twirls around to the front counter, her loose-fitting kimono fluttering with the breeze, leaning her elbows on top of it as she gives Blaine a knowing smile.

 

Linda doesn’t know the _half_ of it.

 

“You usually look a little dreary. But the past few times I’ve stopped by, you just seem happier. In my experience, you’ve either passed a kidney stone or gotten some nookie,” She finishes off with a wink.

 

Blaine scrunches his nose with a laugh. “Oh god, don’t call it ‘nookie’ ever again.”

 

“It’s what we used to say in the Stone Age, hon. The other word was _taboo_ ,” She says, widening his eyes and adopting spooky lilt to her voice as she speaks the word. It just makes Blaine laugh more, but it’s true. He _has_ been happier. He’s been laughing more. Feels more like he isn’t just living for himself.                 

 

The sad thing is, Blaine hasn’t been able to tell _anyone_ about Kurt. And that part he hates. Which is why the truth spills out now. Well, some of it.

 

“I, um…I have, actually. Got a boy. A _man_ , actually. Very much a man…” Blaine speaks modestly, and he can feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

 

“Oh, _Blaine_! Tell me all about him!” Linda announces excitedly, her tiny, middle-aged frame tensing in anticipation. “Is he cute? Tall? _Rich_?”

 

Blaine exhales a small laugh as his eyes dart nervously from Linda’s to the counter. “All three, actually…”

 

Her eyes bulge comically. “ _No!_ Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

 

“I—well—he came into the boutique one day, and we just…hit it off?  Went on a date and we, um…” Blaine clears his throat a little in indication, blushing all the more. “We went over to his place and fooled around a little…”

 

“Hey, no shame in it, honey. We’ve all done it once or twice,” Linda defends, flipping her hand around in a waving-off gesture.

 

Blaine smiles gratefully up at her, but he really doesn’t know where to go from here. This is where it gets messy. “And we’ve sort of been getting together every day after work. And we’ll talk, or go for coffee, or…you know…”

 

“Lordy, boy! And I haven’t known about this?” Linda asks, looking a little offended. “Blainey, I’m practically your flesh and blood! I’m your paycheck and your self-adopted mother-figure out here in the big, bad city!”

 

“I’m sorry! It all happened really quick!”

 

She rolls her eyes fondly, placing a hand over Blaine’s. “Well, he’s certainly one lucky guy.”

 

“I’m the lucky one, believe me.”

 

“I don’t,” she says teasingly, winking at him again.

 

Blaine lets the topic drop at that. Now isn’t the time for the full truth. He still wears a smile all day.

 

***

 

“God, your ass is seriously like…Renaissance sculpture shit,” Kurt marvels quietly, as if to himself.

 

“Oh, you were alive back then, were you?” Blaine snarks. The back of Kurt’s hand strikes Blaine’s ass sharply. “Hey! Is this how you would treat real Renaissance art?” Blaine protests with mock offense.

 

“If it made age cracks at my expense? Of course. I’d smack the statue of David in a heartbeat.” Kurt ducks down and Blaine loses sight of him behind him, until the harsh sting of teeth sink sharp and abrupt into his asscheek. Blaine releases another yelp into Kurt’s bedroom, whirling his head around in surprise. His cheek throbs dully from the bite, and he imagines the intricate teeth marks that are surely sunken into the flesh. For a glimmer of a second he considers asking Kurt to take a picture, but decides against it the moment he begins sucking and licking at Blaine’s hole, now exposed by Kurt’s hands spreading him open.

 

“ _Oh_ , Kurt, baby, yeah. Just like that, fuck…” A buzzing sensation against his sensitive rim tells him that Kurt hummed in assent, spearing his tongue and running it stiffly around his hole before sinking in the tip. Blaine grunts, rolling his hips back as Kurt continues to tease at his entrance. Blaine finds himself exhaling in a laugh as a thought crosses his mind. “You think any Renaissance artists gave their sculptures this invasive a going-over?”

 

Kurt pops up from behind him, lips a little swollen and a lot gorgeous. “That da Vinci was a weird one. Plus, he was, like, half gay, wasn’t he? I would _not_ be surprised. I’ll ask him at the next Renaissance Artist Reunion,” Kurt adds with a half-smile and a rolling of his eyes, before following the magnetic pull he seems to be under tonight back to Blaine’s ass. “But I guarantee none of those statues’ asses taste as fucking incredible as yours.”

 

“God, you are such a sweet talker, baby,” Blaine croons jokingly, eventually fastening his hands next to Kurt’s in order to spread his own ass. Kurt places a light kiss on Blaine’s hands in silent thanks as he removes his own from the task, instead moving them to scoop up Blaine’s balls and stroke at Blaine’s dick. “ _Nng_ , god, what did I do to deserve you?” Blaine puffs out.

 

He feels Kurt smile against his skin. “You offered to take off my pants in your dressing room, remember? I knew then and there that you were a keeper.”

 

Blaine laughs shallowly at the memory, pressing his fingertips into his cheeks. “You looked so fucking sexy walking into the store like that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

 

“I could tell.”

 

“I think you know subtlety is not my strong point, Kurt.”

 

“Neither is keeping your ass empty, apparently.”

 

Blaine pouts, scooting his ass away from Kurt and turning to face him, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Don’t be a bully.”

 

“You just called me 500 years old!” Kurt argues back, merely tapping on Blaine’s shoulder and making him topple backwards for Kurt to crawl over him. “I’m entitled to payback.”

 

“Yes, but I _like_ that you’re older.” Blaine defends, his pout not wavering.

 

“Yeah, and I like that you enjoy being fucked in the ass as often as possible,” Kurt volleys back without a hitch.

 

Blaine stares up at Kurt, calculating, before letting his pout fizzle out. “Fair enough.”

 

“And, assuming you’re okay with it, I’d like to put my cock in your ass as soon as possible.”

 

“Yes, I’m okay with that.”

 

“Hallelujah. Now hold your legs open, daddy’s gotta get better access.”

 

Blaine moans, obeying the command. “How the hell did you get so good at this ‘daddy’ thing so fast?”

 

Kurt leans down to place a loud, dirty kiss to Blaine’s mouth. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life, Blaine. Makes other things happen much easier.”

 

“God, you’re so experienced. It’s so fucking hot,” Blaine expresses, chasing Kurt’s lips with his own when he pulls away.

 

Kurt sets a finger against Blaine’s lips to steady him. “Be good, baby boy,” He teases seductively, his eyes half-lidded and gorgeous still. “Daddy hasn’t even started yet.”

 

Blaine’s bones sink into the mattress with a groan.

 

***

 

“Dude, where do you go every night?” Blaine whirls around to face his roommate Markus in the kitchen, who has a half-gallon of two percent milk in his fist and a rather serious milk mustache. God, Blaine is glad he prefers skim milk.

 

Blaine shrugs, running a hand over his shellacked head. “Out?”

 

Markus rests his elbow on the top of the fridge door that he’s yet to close, and Blaine represses the urge to yell at him to _shut the fucking door_. “But you used to just lock yourself in your room and do whatever the fuck you do in there all day after work. Now you like, get all dressed up and shit. Are you one of those, like, high-class strippers or whatever now?”

 

Blaine stares at him, resisting calling him the actual idiot he thinks he is. He answers slowly, dumbing down his words condescendingly. “No, Markus. I am _not_ a stripper.”

 

“Oh! Is it that super fem guy you bring over sometimes, but always drag out of here when you find me here?” Markus asks, looking like he just found out the secret to life or something equally as stupid. “You’re fucking him, right? Isn’t he kind of old?”

 

Blaine grits his teeth, his fingers curling around the keys in his pocket and creating painful, jagged dents in his skin. “It’s _really_ not any of your business, dude. And his name is _Kurt_. He is _not_ ‘super fem’ or whatever the hell else you think it’s okay to call him. He’s a guy, we like each other, and we hang out. What we do while we hang out isn’t your problem.”

 

 His roommate raises his hands in defense, except one hand is still wrapped around the milk carton, so it’s not nearly as effective. And suddenly, there’s nothing Blaine wants more than to be able to move in with Kurt and not have to deal with an annoying roommate that has zero cleanliness skills or any tact whatsoever.

 

Just as quickly as the thought comes, Blaine scolds himself for even thinking it in the first place. That isn’t a possibility, and dreaming about it will get Blaine nowhere. Blaine pats his pockets for his phone, wallet and anything else he needs, before heading towards the door.

 

“Dude, I didn’t mean to like, offend you or whatever,” Markus calls out, hanging onto the ledge of the doorway leading out of the kitchen and into the main room.

 

Blaine shakes his head, pulling open the front door. “Don’t worry about it,” he returns, barely glancing back at his roommate before shutting the door behind him.

 

Blaine’s realizing a change in his demeanor when it comes to how he treats his roommate since he met Kurt. Markus and he used to be totally chill with each other; sure, Blaine would yell at him now and again for having shit all over the apartment or for leaving his hookah on the kitchen table, but they got along well enough.

 

Now it seems like the only people Blaine hangs out with are older, much more mature people. It makes Markus look inept, almost mentally disabled at the fact that he can’t comprehend simple concepts like “ _clean up your shit”_ or _“weed is not a bare necessity, no matter how Baloo behaves on_ The Jungle Book _which I’ve seen you watching three times in the past week while blazed”._ His patience wears thin, and he knows he shouldn’t let it because really, Markus is harmless. Blaine has just outgrown him. It is a completely pretentious thing to say, but it’s true.

 

Blaine’s had a taste of what it’s like to be with someone older, and he’s adamant on never going back.

 

***

 

The sex is great. The conversation is better.

 

Well, sometimes. Because, granted, the sex can be fucking mind-numbing.

 

Still, at certain times there’s nothing Blaine loves more than sitting in an off-the-wall diner in the city, staring across at Kurt with that unshakable knowledge that he gets to _sleep_ with this man. He gets to be fucked by him and snuggle with him afterwards and go for coffee—as long as it’s in secret. That dulls the excitement sometimes, the covertness they have to take on, but not enough to make Blaine want to _ever_ stop.

 

He loves hearing about Kurt’s day, knowing little tidbits about his job, and having enough background to differentiate his coworkers—which ones annoy him, which he aspires to be, which are a little hair-brained but mean well—and adding his own commentary to Kurt’s stories. Two months is a long time to get to know a person when you’re seeing them nearly every single day, and Blaine likes to think he knows Kurt just as well as his husband does at this point. Possibly more.

 

Some days, Blaine can actually convince himself that they’re married, or at least exclusive, and Blaine is the one Kurt comes home to and unloads his stresses upon. He imagines waking up in the morning next to him, hurrying to make him breakfast before he goes to work, getting caught around the waist from behind and sinking into Kurt as he continues to cook while receiving neck kisses. He wants Kurt to yell at him for missing the dirty clothes basket when he shoots his t-shirt basketballs and leaves them on the floor, wants Kurt to scold him for wrinkling his McQueen button-ups by not hanging them up correctly, to fight over the remote at midnight on a Friday and end up having couch sex instead with something neither of them wants to watch playing in the background.

 

The visuals are vivid and detailed and they tug at his brain whenever they’re together like this, in a non-sexual manner, and it both scares and comforts Blaine. Kurt certainly doesn’t seem freaked out by Blaine’s behavior, and that’s dangerous because it means there is nothing to prevent Blaine’s head from spurring them on.

 

“Blaine? Did I lose you?”

 

Then again, sometimes they’re a little _too_ distracting.

 

Blaine blinks rapidly, shaking his head a little to clear the cobwebs. “Huh? No, no of course not. Chanelle was being a raving bitch, Randy nearly got punched in the face, I got it all,” Blaine recounts, tapping a finger against his temple with a grin.

 

Kurt isn’t fooled, and the smile on his face indicates that before his words do. “Where were you at, tiger? The Bahamas?”

 

Blaine wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Nah. Just thinking about you. And me.”

 

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Were we naked in this particular thought bubble of yours?”

 

Blaine rolls his eyes. “You just like to think I’m always picturing you naked, you vain asshole.”

 

“No, you just usually _are_ thinking about me naked. Which I have no problem with, considering how often I think the same of you.”

 

Blaine has a serious case of hummingbird heartbeat at the divulged information. “Do you ever…think about me in other instances? Not that I have any problem with the latter…”

 

“What do you mean?” Kurt asks, a little confused-looking.

 

“I mean…like…us? Being together? Like, _really_ being together. As a couple.” The more Blaine speaks, the stupider and more naïve it sounds. “Actually, forget I said that. That was dumb.”

 

“No it’s not, Blaine,” Kurt says with a comforting laugh in his voice. Not a mocking laugh, but more of a ‘you’re only silly for thinking it’s silly’ laugh. It warms and chills him simultaneously, and he’s not so sure he isn’t contracting a fever.

 

He could definitely be okay with a Kurt-induced fever.

 

“Yes, Blaine. I do think about that,” Kurt confirms, laying a hand over Blaine’s on the table.

 

Blaine might be going into cardiac arrest.

 

“I think about it all the time. Coming home to you, waking up next to you, eating dinner _at home_ with you. The whole shebang. It’s a really pretty picture, actually. Helps that you’re there too, of course,” Kurt finishes off with a joking wink, and Blaine has to suck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing.

 

“I’d never argue that you’re always the pretty when it comes to us.”

 

“Neither would I,” Kurt teases again, sashaying his shoulders forward a little. Blaine throws his head back with a laugh, recovering just in time to hear Kurt say, “But really, you are so gorgeous, Blaine. The first time I see you every day, you kind of take my breath away.”

 

Blaine inhales sharply, as if trying to take advantage of the air himself so he can give it to Kurt. “Every second I’m with you, I feel like I have trouble breathing at all. But then I realize that you make me feel so alive, make everything so easy, it’s like I don’t even have to breathe.”

 

Kurt surges forward, their lips colliding together, and just like that Blaine feels the stored air go out of him in the form of a squeak of unexpectedness. Kurt’s lips are so soft and a little sweet from the fruity drink he’d ordered, but they pierce to Blaine’s soul with little-to-no effort. When they part, their foreheads rest against one another and Blaine’s pulse is once again perilously high. Kurt’s breath washes over him like new life, and his next words stick to Blaine’s heart like nothing else he’s ever said. “You make it so hard for me to not want forever with you.”

 

He could almost suggest that they skip the after-dinner sex, because Blaine is already so, so fucked.


End file.
